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(You Drive Me) Crazy

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The track at the back of Beacon Hills High is a quarter of a mile round and Finstock has the lacrosse players doing suicides. When Stiles shows up for his morning sprint around the track, he doesn’t know if he should be extremely thankful or inevitably pissed off because this is his track.

And damn it all to hell if Derek doesn’t look like a Greek God, sweating waterfalls that rivet down his shirtless and sculpted chest. All ripped muscles in his legs, his arms, his everything, chiseled jaw so sharp and incredibly attractive. His dark hair is cut shorter this year than the previous years (Stiles has notice, but not because he’s stalking Derek, no, he’s just very in tune to all things Derek), but his stubble is still making an appearance like every other year before.

Stiles is pretty sure that his crush in unhealthy considering he’s been jerking off to the thought of Derek practically since he figured out what his dick was capable of doing.

He’d started out with a crush on Lydia in middle school. She is a gorgeous, cold-blooded fashion princess that boils Stiles’ blood. He thinks he may have only been lusting after the person that kicked Johnny Gibson in the balls for knocking Stiles to the ground during kickball unnecessarily since Stiles wasn’t anywhere near the ball.

Once he hit his freshman year in high school, and Stiles saw Derek for the first time, all bets were off and Derek took the money with a big, glaring ‘fuck you’.

Lydia is now only a friend for Stiles. The hanky spanky thoughts of Derek have resided since freshman year when Stiles joined Track and watched Finstock bitch at tall, dark and apparently emotionally constipated Derek.

The first time Stiles got close enough to speak to Derek, he stuttered out a congratulations on scoring the winning goal during their final season game. That ended horribly. For one, he couldn’t stop talking and blushing; and two, Jackson hasn’t stopped teasing him since, the asshole.

Two weeks into freshman year, Jackson took Lydia off the market and they’ve been together off and on for two years now. Jackson is graduating this year, and Stiles wonders how hard that is going to be for Lydia. Seems like the only thing she’s excited about is dating a college boy, though, if the way she brings it up every time someone mentions college around her is anything to go by.

Stiles is saddened by this. Not because Lydia is flaunting – she always does that – but because he doesn’t want to see his friend get hurt. If Jackson decides college meat is better than high school hormones, and he ditches Lydia for a girl that even Stiles wouldn’t try comparing to her goddess beauty, Jackson’s more of an idiot than Stiles give him credit for, really.

He jogs over to the bleachers, drops his workout bag, and pulls out his iPod. Scott should be meeting him here, but he needs to warm up before he leaves his best friend eating his dust like every other time they work out together.

Jamming the buds into his ears and turning the volume up as high as it’ll go, he shucks his sweats. His shorts are already on and he’s taking off his hoodie, leaving him in a cotton t shirt and oversized track shorts.

He’s actually happy BHHS finally rid the team of the track short tights from the eighties that Stiles is sure his dad used to wear when he’d been on the track team. Stiles isn’t keen on showing off the blinding paleness that are his thighs, thank you.

He starts out at a brisk walk, Spice Girls in his ear telling him to spice up his life and take it to the left, and then the song switches to Chevelle halfway around the track, and Stiles starts to jog, acknowledging Scott with a nod when he joins him.

Scott keeps up with him so fluidly, and so Stiles tries to make it difficult for him, speeding up his jog to a light run. They lap like that a few times and Stiles can see the lacrosse team practicing on the field in the middle of the track circle. Stiles needs to ignore them because he knows that he will fuck up if he sees even an eyebrow twitch on Derek’s body. Jesus, he needs to not think about this!

Scott nudges him in the shoulder and Stiles turns his head back to the track, Britney Spears in his ears singing hit me baby one more time, and Stiles snorts before he looks over at Scott and asks him with a look if he’s ready to sprint.

Scott’s answering smile is blinding and then they’re off, grins on both their faces as they race around the track, looping around six times before Stiles even remembers that the lacrosse team are on the field.

When Stiles looks over at the lax team, he can see Isaac and Jackson racing after Boyd who seems to have the ball. Stiles catches a glimpse of white teeth he hasn’t seen before and shining eyes he’s sure were supposed to be set in a permanent glare, and then everything goes to shit in a little under three seconds.

It starts out with Stiles staring dumbly at Derek’s smile because he’s never seen Derek smile and then he trips over a long jumping hurdle and crashes to the rubber ground that smells like recycled tires. He’s so used to the scent it doesn’t register until he’s literally face planting into it that’s he’s fallen. Fuck!

He can feel the hurdle scraping down the whole left side of his body, but that’s just a scratch that burns like a bitch. It’s nothing compared to the heat of humiliation rising up his face and running throughout his body.

He immediately scrambles to his feet to walk it off, Scott at his side with his mouth voicing words Stiles can’t hear. He pulls the ear buds out of his ears and looks at Scott? “What?”

Scott’s face is twisted in concern. “I asked if you were all right. You had a pretty hard fall.”

Stiles brushes himself off even though he knows there’s nothing on his clothes; force of habit when it comes to acquainting your face with the ground on more than one occasion. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine. No broken bones, pretty sure I still have my teeth intact, even if my dignity just plummeted to the ground, but fuck if my side and thigh don’t hurt like a bitch!” To prove his point, he cradles his side and cups where he knows there’s going to be a pretty gruesome scratch.

He’s still walking back and forth, shaking it off and trying his hardest not to let the burning of pained tears spill over. It’s not crying, but frustration and embarrassment over falling in front of the entire lacrosse team, in front of Derek.

“Bilinski!” Stiles looks up at Finstock. “You good? Don’t need our star Track athlete actually breaking a leg, right?”

Stiles feels his blush creeping up from his toes. Fuck, that’s super embarrassing. “Yeah, coach! Pretty sure I showed that hurdle who’s boss.”

Finstock has a shit eating grin on his face when he says, “Yeah, well I’m pretty sure that hurdle made you eat rubber. Go see the nurse!”

The lacrosse team has stopped practicing and is now looking at Stiles – with concern from some of the players and amusement from others. But one person in particular looks unsettlingly blank. Derek’s gaze is on him, but giving nothing away. He is the closest person to Stiles at the moment besides Scott, which, how the hell did that happen? Stiles is pretty sure he had been next to Finstock a few moments ago, not standing on the edge of the grass, right where the green meets the burgundy rubber of the track.

“Sure you can make it on your own?” Scott asks, hands resting on Stiles’ shoulders when he stops moving.

He waves it off with a shrug and nods. “Good, I’m good, just need some ice and a warm cloth to wipe the scrapes, is all.”

He ignores Derek staring at him, because he’s sure his face is tomato red, and he can’t believe he actually fell in front of him like some stupid fucking fresh meat. He’s not a freshman anymore, damn it!

Scott and Stiles jog back over to their bags. Scott is immediately deep in a conversation about the lead archer on their archery team, Allison. Scott has had the hots for her since sophomore year when she moved to Beacon Hills, and he still hasn’t made a move.

Stiles wonders, not for the first time, if it’s the circle of friends they hangs out with or if it’s just their lives that make them such a losers.


Scott helps Stiles to the nurse’s office and then leaves him there because first period is about to start and Scotts wants to see Allison. Stiles sits on the cot in the corner gingerly with how every twitch really hurts, and the burning pain of the scrapes increases with each movement he makes. His lifts up the left side of his shirt and waits for the nurse.

He exhales loudly when Mrs. Hood comes over with some antiseptic and a few squares of gauze for his side that took the brunt of his fall. They’d already fixed up his leg, and since there were only a few scratches, Mrs. Hood didn’t feel the need to bandage it. “Got into a fight with the ground, did ya?”

Stiles snorts and then hisses, pulling back when Mrs. Hood spreads the Dettol cream over his skin. “Ouch. I think my dad’s going to be more worried about the fact that I might not be at my best potential for tonight’s race. It’s the first time he’s been able to take off work for a race in two years, so this is important.”

“I’m sure he’ll live if you have to sit out a few runs at the race, Stiles.” Mrs. Hood pulls back and walks over to her tray to grab the adhesive tape. When she turns around, she holds it up to his face. “You’re not allergic to adhesive, are you? I might have some cloth tape around here somewhere. I’ll dig it up if need be.”

Stiles shakes his head and watches as she applies the gauze and tape over his side like she’s covering a newly finished tattoo. “Keep some gauze on it for a few days, but continuously change the dressing every three or four hours. It should stop feeling so sore in a few days. Do you need me to write you an excuse for gym? I’ve got your first period pass on my desk.”

Mrs. Hood cleans up while Stiles stands and arranges his clothes. “I’m okay, Mrs. Hood, thanks.”

Stiles leaves with his pass and makes it just in time for Mr. Bolger’s in depth conversation on the differences of mitosis and meiosis. It’s fanstastic.


Is it possible to sense someone glaring at you from across the room? That’s what Stiles senses when he’s standing at his locker. He’s putting away his morning classes books and getting things ready for the afternoon classes before he heads to lunch.

It’s not even a sense per se, more of a feeling; an itch that can’t be scratched, something crawling out of his skin, or a slight burning at the back of his neck. Whatever it is, it’s freaking him out and he doesn’t want to be obvious and try to pinpoint which direction it’s coming from, but it’s making him nervous, like any moment he’s going to get jumped.

He can always outrun the perpetrator(s) but that’s totally not the point. The point is, Stiles doesn’t like feeling as if he’s a bug underneath a microscope, and that’s exactly what’s he’s feeling.

He shrieks into his open locker when a hand comes down on his shoulder, distracting him from his uneasiness and a huge lump of holyshitballs lands in his stomach. “Hey, why are you so jumpy? Did Jackson and his group of lap dogs decide it would be nice to ‘chat with you’ again?”

Stiles snorts and shakes his head, punching Scott in the arm for bringing up the one time Jackson and his friends cornered him in the locker room and took his pants while laughing and making snide comments as they left the locker room. He had to walk to the front office in his gym shorts and his target tee, his dignity going down the drain when he got snickers and teasing winks along the way. “No, just feeling a little weird after the fall, that’s all. Where have you been?”

Like he opened up the floodgates, Scott goes into great detail about how his morning went with breathing down Allison’s neck and following her around like a love-sick puppy. Stiles now knows that she smells like raindrops(It’s Scott, so obviously he knows what raindrops smell like . . . apparently Allison), and her hair kept smacking Scott in the face every time she turned in her seat to talk to him, but it’s okay because it smelled like honeydew. There’s a lot of dopey eyes and happy sighs in that conversation, and Stiles is rethinking the decision of Scott being his best friend, really he is.

He ignores most of Scott’s love-sick word vomit and instead, reaches into his locker for his Chemistry and Pre-Calc books. When he turns back to Scott, he catches a glimpse of Derek walking down the hall, glare on his face with an attitude that screams at people to stay away. When he catches Stiles looking at him, his lip quirks up the tiniest bit and Stiles’ insides melt as his heart starts to race. A blush spreads across his face and he looks back at Scott’s love struck face when he catches Allison walking into her classroom.

He’s pretty sure he’s just as gone on Derek as Scott is on Allison, but at least Scott has a fat chance in hell with Allison. Stiles is pretty sure that if he even tried to ask Derek if he wanted to hang out and watch a movie or play some video games, he’d burst into flames with the heat of his glare.

Like Stiles said before, emotionally constipated; against any other feelings besides anger and malice at the world, and Stiles has no idea why.

Stiles needs to seriously rethink his taste in crushes, because dangerous and sexy just aren’t cutting it for him. Well, he keeps hoping that one day it will stop cutting it for him.

He stares at Derek with heart eyes and his mouth slightly open. He’s sure he might be drooling slightly, but he’s trying to ignore his reactions to Derek even noticing he exists.

He closes his locker door on his hand, because this is Stiles’ life and things that are humiliating and embarrassing always happen to him at every inopportune time. He yelps and yanks his fingers away from the locker, Scott abruptly halting in his heartfelt description of something that has to do with Allison, Stiles is sure.

He can’t really seem to pay attention, though, because Derek gets this pinched crease between his eyebrows and steers toward Stiles and Scott, and just . . . no, Stiles is done with two bouts of humiliation in one day, thank you. He all but yanks Scott down the hallway before Derek can approach them. Scott sputters and flails to keep upright in Stiles’ mission to hide from the muscly hot-rod headed their way.

This is seriously Stiles’ life.


Of course Stiles’ life is full of surprises and while the track team is warming up before the big race, they find out that not only is there a race that evening, but the lacrosse team is playing before them against the LA Vikings. Stiles is equal parts thrilled and terrified, because Derek Hale will be in the audience and he’s never there for Stiles’ races even though most of the school – including Stiles – is always there for the lacrosse games.

Stiles doesn’t want to make a complete fool out of himself in front of him, or his dad. Hell, even in front of the entire student-body population will be embarrassing, and now he’s trying to psyche himself out before racing like he always does. He needs to calm down. This is just like every other race. He can do this. Deep breaths, no panic attacks over the fact that he knows Derek will be watching him tonight.

Beacon Hills beats out the LA Vikings 12-8 with a narrow escape when one of the players from LAV runs Danny into the ground, popping his shoulder out of place and effectively taking him out of the game. Stiles is pretty sure Finstock almost has a coronary at the fact that one of his best team players gets knocked out of the game and has been put on the bench.

Of course, Greenburg scores the goal after Danny sits out, but it’s Derek who takes the final shot and ultimately wins BHH the game.

The runners are warming up when Stiles sees his dad joining the students and families in the stands. When he catches the Sheriff’s eyes, he smiles and waves at him. Sheriff gives him a thumb’s up, and a nod of his head before Stiles is pulled into the team huddle.

Stiles has the long-distance race, but has to sit out for the others because of his not-really-an-injury, but even if he comes in second, he’ll still be going to Finals. His track record is higher than anyone else’s in BHH history and he comes a pretty close second to some girl way up in Weaverville by about five seconds, so he can’t complain too much about only running one race. It’s also the long-distance race, and it’s the easiest one for him because he has the stamina of a wolf.

He stretches his hamstrings and warms up his calf muscles before lightly jogging in place, cheering Scott on when he wins the short distance race. When Scott runs over to him, Stiles claps him on the shoulder.

Scott’s breathing heavy but he gets out, “You would have wiped the floor with me, dude.” Then he catches Allison’s eye and his dopey face comes into full play.

Coach Truss yells at Stiles to get ready and he takes off his jacket and makes his way to the track. He bounces in place, breath coming smoothly as he wills his body to relax and stay calm. When the rest of the teams join the track, Stiles’ heart rate accelerates, but he continues deeply breathing.

He bends down at the mark, fingers touching the rubber of the track, the smell invading his senses. Right at the "get set," he lifts slightly, looks forward and stares down the track until he hears the shot ring out.

He’s off, slight run turning into a sprint so he doesn’t pull a muscle by trying to go full out, break neck speed like most of the runners usually do. It slows them down eventually, and then Stiles is running as if his life depends on it.

He gets past the lead runner, eyes focused on the finish line after three laps, and on the fourth one, he’s in the lead, but just barely. With that last push of energy before his stamina breaks down, he holds through and crosses the finish line first.

The cheers in the crowd are deafening and Stiles slows down and just walks a few extra hundred feet before turning back toward the stands, finding his dad hooting and hollering with a huge smile on his face. Stiles hasn’t seen him smile like that since his mom died and his chest aches at the praise his dad is showing. It all feels amazing.

The team comes barreling in on him and then there are people from the stands. Everyone is jumping, people trying to get at the track team and the lacrosse team because they were both winners tonight. He feels the twinges in his side and leg but ignores it in favor of celebrating BHHS’s victories of the night.

Scott grabs his arms and yells in his ear over the noise, “There’s a party tonight at Greenburg’s to celebrate! You in?”

Stiles usually doesn’t go to parties because his dad is the Sheriff and if he’s caught with even a slight whiff of alcohol on him, his dad will house arrest him until he graduates college, which would suck because he’s heard campus life is awesome. He tells Scott he’ll have to talk to his dad, because Stiles really does want to go, even if he has to sneak out after his dad goes to bed.

Before he can search his dad out, dark hair comes into his line of sight and Derek’s vibrant hazel eyes stare at him for a moment before Derek mutters over the crowd, “Nice job out there. Congrats.”

Stiles is pretty sure that his mouth is hanging open and he has a blush on his face, but he doesn’t get time to respond before everyone filters their way between the two of them and Stiles loses sight of Derek.

He finds his dad on the edge of the track, talking to Finstock and Coach Truss, and makes his way to them.

“Hey, dad, some friends are going out for pizza and a small get-together. Can I go? I’ll stay at Scott’s so I don’t wake you before you need to be up for your shift.”

The skeptical look on his dad’s face tells him that he knows Stiles is lying, but he’s not going to call him on it. Stiles isn’t above begging to the higher power that his dad will overlook this like he never does other things. “Remember I’m the Sheriff, and I better not get a call about noise disturbance.” He pulls Stiles in for a hug. “But I’m really proud of you, so you deserve a night out with your friends. I expect at least two texts before I get up for work so I know you’re safe.”

Stile nods, thanks his dad and then joins Scott with a triumphant fist bump, and then they’re heading home so they can change. Scott catches a ride with Stiles to Greenburg’s house.


Stiles is more interested in watching Scott make a complete and utter fool of himself in front of Allison than he is in drinking. That’s not to say that he hasn’t had a few because, come on, everyone at the party has had at least three beers sometime during the night.

Scott is on his sixth or seventh one – Stiles isn’t counting just hoping his friend doesn’t throw up everywhere – before he really starts getting his hands on Allison like he wouldn’t do if he were sober. Stiles is tempted to pull him away, save the day, but he kind of doesn’t want to cock-block his friend. He’s hoping that maybe this will help Scott somehow, some way.

He’s leisurely sipping on his third beer when someone joins him on the couch. “How’s your side?”

Stiles turns and almost chokes on his beer when he sees Derek staring right back at him.

“I – um, yeah, good – great, I mean. It’s fine, still a little sore, but nothing I can’t handle. No pain no gain, right?” Stiles laughs nervously and then cringes and tries – he really does – to shut up right then and there, but what little brain to mouth filter he has, has stopped working and he just continues talking.

“I don’t normally do that – fall, I mean. I guess I was sort of distracted and didn’t notice the hurdle, but Mrs. Hood helped, so yeah. Great shot today – you sure know how to pitch. You’re probably good at catching, too, right?” Stiles has enough common sense to know that he needs to shut up, but dear lord, save him. He can’t. “It’s probably not that hard to catch, right? You just sort of…” He waves his hands around, minding the bottle in his hand. “Go for it.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek’s voice is gruff, and holds no amusement, but his eyes are dancing with mirth.

Stiles swallows his tongue when he sees Derek lick his lips and does the same thing without thinking about it. Derek’s eyes catch the movement and then darken a few shades before settling back on his eyes.

Stiles gulps the rest of his drink down and thinks that maybe it’s time for another cup. So he gets up and, wow, dizzy, head sloshing around. He trips over something and ends up straddling Derek who –– to Stiles’ embarrassment –– looks slightly amused if not a little annoyed. “Sorry – sorry, I just –”

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s chest and ohmygod, the guy is built like a damn body builder. Stiles doesn’t know if he should move his hands or run them over Derek’s chest and risk losing them for his effort.

“Stiles.”

He gapes openly at Derek, because he didn’t think Derek knew his name, never mind the crowd cheering for him. He figures Derek doesn’t pay attention to anything that doesn’t involve him, just like Jackson and the rest of the lacrosse team.

“I – dude, really, just . . . I’m not usually like this, I swear! I’d at least ask you to dinner first.” And what the ever loving shit was that? Stiles didn’t mean that. Well, he did, he really really did, but this is Derek. Derek neither knows nor does he like Stiles.

This is majorly embarrassing and Stiles wishes that some powerful force would open up the floor and swallow him whole, because he would welcome it gratefully. Anything to stop from irritating Derek with his inability to keep his mouth shut.

Stiles.

“I know – fuck, sorry. I moving, I swear!” Stiles goes to un-straddle Derek, but ends up with a hand on his lower back to stop him from moving and he stares down at Derek, blush rising up on his cheeks when he sees the intent look Derek is giving him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, and closes his eyes, his blush burning his cheeks.

“Stiles. Shut. Up.” And then Derek pulls his down and kisses him. It’s chaste at first, until Stiles relaxes into it and Derek gently eases Stiles to open up for him before he dives in. All teeth and tongue and hands gripping Stiles’ hips to the point of bruising and, oh, yes please, bruising. Stiles didn’t think he’d like marking, but he can feel the way his cock jumps at the thought of having Derek marks all over him.

Hands slide up his back, fist in his hair and he groans into Derek’s mouth when Derek flicks his tongue against his.

They only pull back for air and it’s enough to have Stiles’ lungs burning and his breath hitching when Derek kisses and nips down his throat, sucking a mark into his neck right below his collar. Stiles experimentally shifts his hips into Derek’s and can feel Derek’s thick cock rub against his thigh and he moans into Derek’s neck.

“Holy shit, this isn’t happening,” Stiles mutters, face rubbing against the side of Derek’s neck before he seals his own lips around the soft skin and starts sucking his own mark on Derek. He feels it’s only fair, after all.

“If you don’t want it to happen, it won’t.” Derek goes to pull back and the protest Stiles gives is enough to have Derek pushing Stiles off his lap and guiding him up to the second floor of Greenburg’s house.

They kiss their way down the hall and Derek pushes Stiles against a wall just this side of too hard, but all Stiles does is cling harder, push back more. He tries to give as good as he gets, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t even know if Derek likes that Stiles is pushing against his hold. He doesn’t know how this works.

“Derek, I don’t –” Stiles begins, but is effectively cut off by Derek nipping his bottom lip before pushing open a door to Stiles’ left. They stumble into the room and Derek has the decency to lock the door before he’s back on Stiles, hands flying to his shirt, nails scratching up his chest and when he squeezes Stiles’ left side, a hissing whine escapes Stiles without his permission. Fuck, he forgot about his side, and apparently so did Derek.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Just – you’re so distracting, I can’t think straight whenever I’m around you.”

Stiles has never heard Derek talk so much in his life, but he’s loving every minute of it. He should have known Derek would be a secret bedroom talker during sex. He wants to hear more of Derek, but doesn’t get the chance to when Derek pulls the rest of Stiles’ clothes off and has him pinned against the bed.

Derek dips down and starts to nuzzle and lick at the base of his cock, breath ghosting out as he presses open mouthed kisses along the shaft before slipping the head of Stiles’ cock past his lips and temporarily shutting down Stiles’ brain. He arches in the heat of Derek’s mouth and gasps when Derek sucks him down further.

He’s never done this, never had a mouth on his dick and it feels amazing. It’s all wet heat and dramatic sounds that make a static rush of electricity spark down his spin. He scrabbles for purchase against the sheets, but can’t seem to get a grip on anything that he thinks will help with the oh god - this is happening - how is this happening - I’m gonna come overwhelming feels building up in Stiles as he makes his way closer to the edge.

He’s a teenager, and Derek’s mouth feels too good on his dick. He knows he’s not going to last very much longer, but he’s enjoying this. Derek looks up at him and Stiles can see his jaw working down the length of his cock. It’s mesmerizing to see how much Derek seems to like this.

When he feels Derek flick his tongue around the head of his cock, it pulls a groan from his lips and has him spreading his legs apart. He pulls Derek closer by a hand in his hair and shoves him down onto his cock, hoping he’ll take it and not be pissed off that Stiles is basically feeding Derek his dick, and enjoying it immensely.

He runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, pulling lightly at the last minute, trying to warn Derek when he pulls back and swiftly takes Stiles deeper into his mouth that he close and he’s going to come. Derek either doesn't hear him or doesn’t care. He moans and tries to take Stiles deeper before he swallows around his cock. The constricting feeling around the head of his dick does it for Stiles, and he plummets over the edge like a freight train, out of control, and he’s spilling into Derek’s mouth.

He thinks he’s screwed up when he comes back around, but Derek hums and licks and bites at his neck when he slinks up the length of Stiles’ body. His lips press gently against Stiles’, giving him room to break the kiss if he’s grossed out that his come has been in Derek’s mouth, which he should be, but he finds it incredibly hot that Derek swallowed his come.

He licks into Derek’s mouth tentatively, and a burst of himself explodes on his tongue, but Stiles doesn’t find it disgusting. He finds it so hot that his dick is giving a too-soon-for-anything-to-happen-but-still-interested twitch, and Stiles huffs out a laugh at that.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles gives him a small smile and receives a quirk of lips in return so he hopes they’re okay. He also really hopes this isn’t a drunken stupor and that Derek wants to try this again.

“Want me to help you out? I don’t know how, but I’m sure if you help, I’ll catch on,” Stiles suggests, hand already working its way down Derek’s body.

Derek puts a stop to it immediately, and looks a little at him like if was anybody else, he’d be extremely embarrassed. “No need. Maybe next time.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide and he blinks hard. “You mean.”

Derek looks away from him, and Stiles can’t help the pleased, needy moan that escapes his throat. “Oh my god, that is so fucking hot on so many levels.”

Derek gives a small sort of shrug before he gets off of Stiles, who is completely naked other than his socks and Derek is completely clothed.

It makes Stiles nervous all the same. “Either you’re wearing too many clothes, or I’m not wearing enough.”

Derek gets a hungry look in his eyes when he roams them over Stiles’ body. “Definitely too many clothes.” And then Derek strips down to nothing, pulling Stiles’ socks off before he slides between Stiles’ sprawled thighs, minding the scratched up side of his left thigh.

“When exactly does “next time” happen? Because I’m getting hard again, and you’re fucking hot and naked, and on top of me, and oh my god…” Stiles moans when he feels Derek rutting alongside his own cock.

“Now?” Derek offers, already working another mark into the skin below his collarbone.

“Now is good,” Stiles says, baring his neck to give Derek more room. “Now is very, very good.”

Derek snorts, but complies, working his way back down Stiles’ body.